Reincarnation down Omnia way
by Chill
Summary: Death goes to Omnia and brings someone into the next world (what else is there to say?)


This isn't as long as my usual ones for 3 reasons 1.I don't have much time but I still feal like wipping up a fic, 2. I only included Death (don't ask why, but extra characters add whole new paragraphs) and 3. I didn't really bother with the amount dialogue that I usually include (;0)  
  
  
Reincarnation down Omnia way  
  
Death stalked the streets of Omnia. He really was rather good at it. His black, cowled robe billowed behind him, but the effect was wasted to all but people of a magical disposition and cats. He wasn't too pleased about the actual stalking business, he preferred going on his horse, Binky. For one thing it was less draughty and when you have a thorax that you can play with a couple of hammers, you can get seriously bad wind problems.  
Omnia was reknown for it's plagues. It had started with that dreadful plague of toads. Death hadn't been called to do any stalking until quite recently when the lake had turn to blood and now some bugger was killing every house's eldest who didn't kill one of his goats and paint a cross on the door with it's blood. Admittedly some of them died of heart problems at the news of the cost of staying alive, but you always get a few like that.  
Apparently Om was a forgiving God. Logically, this was disproved by two things: 1. The Gods of the Disc had a habbit of writing obscene words on atheists' residences, and, 2. What was happening right now. Death grinned at the thought. It is rather hard not to, when your jaw has no way of changing position but that was life. No. That was Death. Death sighed, grinning.  
While lost in his thoughts, he completely missed the turning and had to retrace his steps to the right alley, swearing as only an Antropomorphic Personification can swear. He arrived just after the nick of time. That was another thing he was good at. In the alleyway was the shrivelled corpse of a man, aged about 70. It was wearing nothing but a long white sheet,sewed up at the back and with appropriate holes for the head and arms.  
The man got up, or rather his soul did. It looked exactly like the corpse apart from the fact that it had a blue cord attached to it's ankle, was vaguely transparent and shimmered slightly. The man's bearded face relaxed into the frown that it had spent the best part of it's life perfecting, apparently independently of whatever the man thought about this.  
EUREKA. said Death.  
The philosopher jumped in astonishment at seeing Death for the first time, tried to catch his breath, realised there was none to catch and toppled over in his confusion.   
He surfaced and managed a brief "What?" before loosing his balance again.  
I WAS JUST TRYING TO GET INTO THE SPIRIT OF THE THING, explained Death, SOMEONE ONCE SAID I SHOULD TRY IT.  
The man's head rose slowly from the ground and looked at Death. His eyes started to bob up and down.  
THERE'S NO NEED TO BE LIKE THAT.  
"Um..." the philosopher slowly composed himself, "isn't there?"  
INDEED NOT.  
The dove on clarity started to shed it's golden feathers onto his brain. "So I'm not dead..?"  
I DON'T THINK YOU QUITE UNDERSTAND.  
"Eh?"  
Death sighed. He'd had a long day, YOU ARE DEAD.  
The chicken pigeon of understanding went to the dropped a load onto his skull.  
"Oh... so this is... Death," the philosopher stood up, face clearer than Klatchian Mist,"It's frankly not quite what I expected it to be."  
Death grinned, I'M AFRAID THAT YOU'RE BEING MISLED BY APPEARENCES; THIS IS ONLY THE STOP-OFF POINT, WHERE YOU GO, IS WHERE YOU BELIEVE YOU GO, NOW, IF YOU DON'T MIND...   
Death picked up his scythe and swung it with expertise. The blue cord snapped.  
"Well, I've always believed in reincarnation myself...," the philosopher's voice was growing faint. Death snapped his fingers and a doorway appeared. From inside came a great heat. If anyone peered in, they would have possibly made out some sticky, yellow substance.  
"But... that wouldn't please the allmighty Om..." the philosopher's voice was almost a whisper on the wind, Death appeared nonchalent for a moment and quickly kicked the man through the doorway which snapped shut with a small thunderclap. It started to rain.  
Death took what appeared to be a large, wooden eggtimer from his robe with all the sand at the bottom. As he watched, it started to grow smaller, fuzzier and greyer. There was a name etched in the glass but it was so distorted as to be unreadable. The sand suddenly disappeared and reappeared in the top bulb. Death nodded. If any cats had happened to be walking by, they would seen the words Jonas Bidos-chicken resolve themselves in the glass. But then, cats can't read.  
Death turned back towards the main road and continued his stalking. Only another couple of thousand to go. He mused at how strange it was that philosophers tended to die in groups rather than in individually.  
***  
The allmighty Om mused at why he'd accepted philosopher's into his land in the first place. Nothing but trouble.  
The End  
  
There, told you it was short. 


End file.
